


Don't Threaten Me With A Good Time

by Gia279, rebekahdarian



Series: 5+1 Things [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Creepy!Peter, Fluff, He Also Thinks He's Slick, Humor, Judgment brows of doom, M/M, Malia Got Her Permit, Oblivious Stiles, Scott Is Observant, Scott is hungry, Scotty Ships It, all the food, also a raven boys reference, and there's peter fuckin shit up, can you spot it?, charmed reference, coauthor commandeers the tags, dates used as threats, failwolf!Derek, for once, pack gatherings, pack mom!stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-26
Updated: 2017-09-26
Packaged: 2018-06-08 18:08:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6867886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gia279/pseuds/Gia279, https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebekahdarian/pseuds/rebekahdarian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or</p><p>The Five Times Stiles (Jokingly) Asked Derek Out On A Date, And The One Time He Realized That's What Derek Wanted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Threaten Me With A Good Time

**Author's Note:**

> There's a reference to The Raven Boys by Maggie Stiefvater in here, just incase anyone catches it. :)  
> Also a reference to Charmed :*

**1)**

“Dude!” Stiles exclaimed, shoving a tray of steaming lasagna into Scott’s waiting arms. “Stop drooling on the food and put it on the table.”

Scott grinned, carefully juggling the bowl of bread and now the tray. “But it smell so good.”

Stiles waved the spatula he’d used to dish out the lasagna threateningly. “I will hand you over to the rest of the pack if you eat all the food before they get here.”

Scott ducked his head, guilty, as he carefully made his way over to the dining room table where four lasagnas, five bowls of rolls, two huge bowls of salad, and three apple pies already sat.

Stiles wasn’t sure the whole pack was going to fit in his house, but some of them could sit outside. Despite inadequate seating space, everyone was definitely going to eat.

He’d turned back to the oven to pull out the last of the pies when he saw Scott glance toward the front door.

“Holy hell,” Isaac called, throwing open the front door. “That smells so good.” He bound through the house, homing in on the kitchen. “Erica, Boyd, Allison, Jackson, and Lydia didn’t leave long after me, they’ll be here soon.”

Stiles lifted the pie onto the counter, prepared to snatch up the spatula again if Isaac stepped any closer.

“Wait,” he intoned, “for the others.”

Isaac looked speculatively at the spatula, then glanced at the pie, then back at the spatula.

“No.” Stiles said sternly, making shooing motions with his hands. “Out, you and Scott, out! You’re both banned from the kitchen until further notice.”

“We haven’t done anything!” Isaac protested. He was grinning, though, as he backed out of the kitchen and into the living room. He looked at Scott and groaned.

Stiles followed his gaze. He scowled.

Scott grinned at him around a mouthful of bread; the other, mangled half of the roll was clutched triumphantly in his fist.

“I haven’t done anything,” Isaac amended.

“No, but you were thinking about it, so shoo!” Stiles waved them away.

As they were retreating from his wrath, Isaac turned his head toward the door hopefully, like a shipwreck victim spotting the National Guard. Suspicious, Stiles followed them to the living room, peering out the window just as a car pulled into the driveway.

Malia jumped out of the driver’s side door, waving frantically at Stiles through the window as she bounced across the yard and up to the door.

Peter slid from the passenger side with an admirably stoic face, although he was gripping the door as if it was the only thing holding him up; Derek threw himself out of the backseat as if something had forcefully ejected him, landing on all fours and muttering something to the grass that Stiles, obviously, couldn’t hear.

Whatever it was, it had Isaac and Scott erupting into laughter. Malia burst through the door much like Isaac and launched herself at them.

“I got my permit!” she cried, flinging her arms Scott and Isaac’s necks with so much enthusiasm that she nearly threw them over her shoulders.

“Congratulations!” Stiles crossed room, hugging her tightly.

She laughed and squeezed him back.

“Practice makes perfect, Derek,” Peter said, striding through the front door that Malia had left hanging open.

“I think I’ll run home, thanks.” Derek scowled. His gaze shifted dangerously to Scott, who was still shaking with mirth.

Stiles pulled away from Malia and scowled at the bread still in Scott’s hand. Scott lifted it up victoriously and shoved the rest of it into his mouth.

Stiles rolled his eyes, slamming the door that no one had bothered closing.

“Scott, so help me, if you take one more thing before everyone else gets here, I’ll follow you on a date with Allison.” Stiles fixed Scott with a hard stare—the cop stare he’d learned from his father at twelve. The "I am done with your bullshit and might just mace your ass" stare. _That_ stare.

“That’s creepy,” Scott managed around the bread.

"I'll be glued to your hip. Privacy will be a figment of your imagination. I will fill every moment with me talking about every single embarrassing moment you have ever experienced," Stiles threatened. "It'll be Scott McCall: The Documentary From Hell."

This time Scott hesitated, possibly because he knew Stiles really did know all of his embarrassing stories and that he really did have no qualms about revealing them.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Malia creeping toward the table. He spun to face her, pointing threateningly. “What did I say?” It had worked so well with Scott… “That applies to _anyone_ trying to steal food before the rest of the pack arrives.” He folded his arms over his chest, confident

“What if we’re single?” Peter asked with a little smirk playing around his mouth.

“Then,” he began exultantly, “you will be subjected to a one on one date with me. I promise you, I will be a fidgeting, ranting, non-medicated mess that you will have _no one_ to buffer you from.” He cast his gaze around the room, delighted in himself.

Peter lifted an eyebrow in the same Hale-patented manner Derek had, as if he was judging Stiles’s life choices and possibly his fashion choices, and shrugged, claiming a seat on the couch.

Stiles’s arm shot out to block the doorway when Derek took a step toward the food.

“I’m serious, you touch that food—one nibble—and I will totally plague you with my presence for a full evening.” He quirked a smile. “And I’m sure you can think of a better way to spend an evening.”

Derek frowned, glancing past Stiles at the food.

A new car pulling into the driveway drew everyone’s attention away from Stiles’s threat.

“I can smell that from here!” Erica yelled.

“Yeah, and we can smell _you_ from here!” Isaac shouted back

Feet pounded up the front steps and the door flew open for the third time. Stiles cringed. One of these days they were going to _actually_ break the door down.

He forgot to worry about it as Isaac disappeared behind the couch under Erica’s roaring tackle.

 

**2)**

Stiles stared at the flat tire on his jeep with a mixture of frustration and admiration. Frustration because _duh_ , and admiration because _of course_ he’d managed to hit the only sharp object in the middle of Main Street.

“How?” he asked at last, gesturing helplessly as if the tire might explain itself and its actions to him.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket, tapping Scott’s grinning icon.

“I’m working. Is something wrong?” Scott answered in a rush.

“My tire had an affair with a construction zone,” Stiles said flatly.

There was half a beat of silence before Scott replied, “I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say to that. Are you talking about yourself?” His voice quavered a little, as if he was seriously wondering if Stiles had called him at work to make a joke about sexing-up the forty-year-old father-of-three helping fix the cracks on Main Street.

“Do you _think_ I’m talking about myself? This is not that kind of call. You’re familiar with most of my sexcapades. I’m talking about the flat tire I am now the proud parent of.” Stiles patted the side of his jeep, still staring at the flat.

“I assume you know how to put on a spare?” Scott asked a little dryly, ignoring the fluff.

Stiles cringed. “That was the spare.”

“Stiles.” The judgment.

Stiles was going to have to stop letting him hang out alone with Derek.

“I know, I know, I should have replaced it, but can you pick me up on your lunch break or something so I can get another one?” Stiles asked in a rush.

Scott sighed. “I already took my lunch break. Derek’s not busy today,” he said in an uncharacteristically sly tone. “I’m sure he’d love to give you a ride to the tire shop.”

Stiles took a second to frown, trying to work out the tone. He shook his head. “Yeah, I suppose I could. Thanks anyway.”

“Sorry, wish I could help,” Scott said, sounding far more pleased than apologetic.

“Nah, it’s okay.” Stiles grimaced.

“Stiles?” Scott began hesitantly. “ _Most_ of your sexcapades?”

“Somethings are better left unsaid and possibly forgotten. I haven’t gotten drunk enough to tell you about that.” Stiles’s grinned as he imagined the look on Scott’s face to go with the little breathless noises of horror he was making. “I went through a curious stage.”

“No! Shhh! Point made. Go call Derek.”

Stiles could almost _see_ Scott blushing.

“Kay, bye!” He hung up, then immediately put the phone back to his ear after prodding Derek’s icon—a picture of his forehead, brows all furrowed and judgy.

“What?” Derek growled.

“Nice,” Stiles muttered. “Would you mind driving me to the tire shop? I hit the only nail on Main Street and it punctured my spare.”

Derek paused. “Yeah, okay. Where are you on Main Street?”

Stiles bounced on the balls of his feet slightly. “Uh, by that diner with the devil waiter, I think it’s called Nino’s? I don’t remember what cross street, the sign must be missing, it’s the one that’s always backed up during rush hour and takes forever to get through.”

Silence made Stiles’s ears ring.

“You were born here, right?” Derek asked at last.

“Well, not right here, I’m fairly certain a hospital and doctors were involved. Then again, this is California so…But yeah, this general area,” Stiles finished brightly.

Derek sighed loudly. “Just checking. Give me ten minutes and I’ll be there.”

Stiles was still scowling when he hung up his phone.

“You’re so amazing,” Stiles declared as soon as Derek’s car pulled up beside him. He knew Derek could hear him. He was grinning as he climbed into the Camaro. “Thank you so much, you really don’t have any idea how happy I am to see you.” He buckled in and continued, “Scott already took his lunch break and he’s not off until seven, and while I’d like to believe I could entertain myself for a few hours, I honestly don’t think that would end well.” He looked up at the blazing sun through the tinted windows. “I’d also like to say I could totally make it walking home, but I’d look like a fire engine by the time I got there, and also…sweat?” He shook his head, sticking his tongue out with distaste.

“You can call me anytime,” Derek said at the end of the onslaught, pulling out onto the street. When Stiles turned to stare at him, he added, “Or any member of the pack.”

“Oh, I know. I still want to pay you back for this. I’ll buy you dinner or something, pay for movie tickets, your choice.” Stiles shrugged, running his hands over his thighs. “We could do both dinner and a movie, make it a date.”

Derek’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, knuckles whitening. The plastic creaked dangerously.

“Or not,” Stiles said quickly. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he laughed, shaking his head. “I’ll just cook you something, send it over with Isaac. Forget I said anything.” He willed his face to stop _blushing_ , this was not the most embarrassing situation he’d ever been in.

Once he’d walked in on Jackson and Lydia and while it was horrifying, it hadn’t even been _sexy times._

 _Good god, Stilinski,_ he thought, using his mental White Out to blot the memory away.

Derek huffed in what could have been a laugh, blessedly distracting, but he didn’t stop trying to strangle the steering wheel.

 

 

**3)**

Stiles shoved open the door to Derek’s loft with a strangled curse about the sticky lock. He eased his way through the dark entryway, using his shoulder to force the opening wider.

Normally, getting in was not as much of an adventure. He’d been coming to return some books, and when Lydia had heard, she’d asked him to take the three she’d borrowed, as well. That wouldn’t have been a problem, except Allison had blinded him with her dimples and he had three books from _her_ , too, on top of his and Lydia’s.

So it was with an unwieldy stack of books in his arms that he picked his way through the living room, toward the bookshelf pressed into the far wall.

He was about three feet short, flushed with success, when a voice slid out of the dark. “I’m surprised you haven’t tripped yet.”

Stiles yelped, then swore as the books crushed his toes; his feet got tangled up in them as he spun around, sending him toppling. He managed to catch himself on the wall before he hit the floor.

“Oops. Spoke too soon.” Peter grinned at him from the couch, his teeth flashing in the light of the moon from the window.

“What the hell?” Stiles demanded. He knew Peter could hear his heart racing and found that unacceptable; he forced himself to breathe and relax.

“I was actually waiting for the show. You’re grace—or rather, lack thereof—is legendary. I was expecting more excitement,” Peter mused.

“Thank you for that extremely unnecessary commentary,” Stiles said dryly. “God, you’re even weirder in your natural habitat. Derek’s habitat. Territory. Whatever.”

He bent and jerkily scooped up the books, trying not to show the back of his neck to Peter. He felt that Peter would take that as an invitation, then act all innocent and surprised when the rest of the pack yelled at him for eating Stiles. 

He shoved the two of the books back on the shelf and snorted angrily, straightening the abused pages of another.

Peter chuckled. “Maybe I should have stolen a piece of food from dinner the other night. I think an evening with you would be…interesting.”

A chill slid down Stiles’s spine like a finger. “Fuck,” he announced, hastily shoving the rest of the books back into place. “I’m out. Your creeping just got way out of my comfort zone. Have a good night, Your Creepiness.” He snapped a sarcastic salute toward Peter’s dark form and beat a hasty retreat.

He rolled the door shut behind him and hesitated with the key in his hand, wondering if he should even bother locking it with him in there. Alone. Peter was his own security system.

“You okay?”

Stiles jumped and yelped a second time, this time turning to find Derek behind him.

“You and your uncle, you’re both trying to see if a human’s heart will _literally_ stop from fear. Let me put the controversy to rest: _yes and it hurts_.” Stiles gave a shaky smile. “You startled me,” he elaborated. “And Peter is a freak.”

“What’d he say?” Derek tensed, glancing almost nervously towards the door.

Stiles laughed, an awkward, stilted sound. “Something about taking food at dinner the other night when I made the date threat and interesting evenings and basically your uncle has still not shed the creepy second-skin he’s been dragging around from the grave and I would like to know _why not_ ,” he babbled, relaxing with each word as if just by talking he was getting rid of the last vestiges of his nerves.

“Would you ever consider dating a Hale?” Derek asked lightly.

Stiles snorted, relaxing all the way. "Ha! Yeah. Only, my options are His Creepy Highness in there,” he jerked a thumb over his shoulder, “Cora, who hates me, and you, you are so far out of my league that asking you on a date is sort of like sending a prom request to the First Lady.”

Derek blinked, shaking his head. “Wait, Stiles,” he started, looking confused.

Stiles smiled and patted his arm. “Thanks for cheering me up.” He snorted another laugh and stepped around him. “But hey, maybe if Peter keeps creeping, we can go on some sort of fake-date and see if it’ll get rid of him.” He backed toward the stairs, grinning.

“I didn’t mean it as a-”

“I’m not insulted!” Stiles called, turning around so he could jog down the stairs. Derek really had lightened up a lot; it was good to know he could joke around.

 

  
**4)**

Stiles pushed his cart with mingled fury and determination. Out of all the carts in the parking lot, he’d grabbed the one with the gimpy wheel that veered so dangerously to the right he was almost scared for the Captain Crunch display. He could feel the stares of the other patrons, knew they were all turning as he squealed his way by, but he refused to look and kept his head high.

Since Derek was the only one in the pack that was over twenty-one (only non-creepy, unemployed member over twenty-one), Stiles had dragged him to the grocery store with him so he could get some wine for cooking. He wasn’t complaining, but Stiles suspected it was out of sheer force of will, by the way he was looking at their cart.

Stiles loosened his grip on the cart, letting it veer sharply into the liquor aisle.

“You’re going to knock something over,” Derek said, taking a hasty step between the cart and all the breakable glass to their right.

Stiles shot him a smile. “I haven’t knocked anything important over since I was nineteen.”

“That was last year,” Derek informed him flatly.

Stiles adopted an innocent look and asked, “Was it?” in a sweet tone.

He turned away and grabbed a cheap bottle of wine off the shelf. He considered it and shrugged, putting it beside the meat.

“And that,” he gestured grandly at the impressively full cart, “is how you properly prepare for an outing. We have more food than we could possibly need. No one will go hungry. We might even have leftovers.”

Derek snorted and Stiles sighed. “Yeah, probably not.”

They made their way to the check out and waited in the atrociously long line. Stiles insisted he could convince the cashier in the express lane to let them go through, but Derek had unexpectedly high grocery-store moral and wouldn’t let him. When he whined, there were judgment brows.

“Yeah, okay, bad karma. Like we need any more of that.” Stiles huffed and shuffled his feet, waiting for the line to move. He was going to start crawling the walls any second now.

According to his phone, it took them fifteen minutes to make it through the line to the point of paying. Stiles fidgeted with the ads stacked at the edge of the counter, swearing when he sent some scattering to the floor. The cashier, Lila, was not amused.

Derek handed over his ID and credit card, at which point Lila became even less amused. Her gaze shot straight toward Stiles.

“I know your father’s the sheriff,” she said. “And I know for a fact that you’re still underage.”

Stiles gasped, pressing a hand to his heart. “Do you _seriously_ think I’d try to sneak wine?”

Her expression turned doubtful and pinched.

“Hey! It’s not even _good_ wine— not that I would know that,” he sputtered. “Why would I even come inside if I was just coming to try to scam someone into buying me alcohol?” he demanded. “It’s for cooking!” He gestured expansively at the rest of the groceries on the belt. 

“It’s for cooking,” Derek reassured her.

“Fine.” She still looked skeptical, but she continued ringing them up.

“I-” Stiles started indignantly, one hand flailing out to make his point—whatever that point was—but Derek caught his hand and squeezed, narrowing his eyes at him.

Derek paid, keeping his hand around Stiles’s until they were safely out in the parking lot.

As soon as they were outside, Stiles yanked himself free. “It’s not like I was lying!” he burst out. “Why did she believe you the first time, and I had to keep explaining myself?”

“That would be because I was _actually_ the one with the ID.”

“Yes,” Stiles agreed, unloading the cart into the backseat. “Okay, that makes sense. But I had other stuff on the belt, too. It’s not like I was _just_ trying to get the wine.” He looked at Derek appraisingly. “But you could totally buy me some wine, though. I wouldn’t tell.” He grinned. “We could share it and have some cheese and make a date of it.”

Derek sighed, shaking his head, and lifted the rest of the bags into the car. “Let’s just get home before the frozen things thaw.”

Stiles pouted at him. “Alright, alright.” He lifted the last few bags out and put them in the back seat. “We’ll corrupt you yet,” he promised.

Derek got in the car muttering.

 

  
**5)**

Stiles had almost finished making his popcorn when he saw Derek's car pull up.

“Have I ever told you how amazing you are?” Stiles asked, rushing to open the door before Derek could abuse it.

Derek blinked at him, his lips curling up in a small smile. He held the plastic bag of DVDs out to Stiles.

“Took some arguing with Peter to get them out of the house, but eventually, I won.”

“I seriously appreciate this. You can’t celebrate Friday the 13th without horror movies and apparently mine have gone into hiding.” Stiles looked through the bag eagerly. “I could kiss you for this!” He waggled _The Collector_ , then frowned thoughtfully. “But that’d probably be weird.”

Derek made some sort of choking noise.

Stiles’s eyes widened. “Oh, god, I didn’t mean you’re a weird person to—I meant without some sort of date or something first, so date first, then kiss, maybe, we’d have to see how the night went.” He held a hand up in front of Derek’s face. “This is ridiculous. Why haven’t you stopped me?” he demanded. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay?” he asked. “I promise not to call you weird again, and I’ve got popcorn, candy, blankets.” He grinned.

Derek hesitated, then offered another smile. “No, I’ve got things to take care of.” He glanced back at his car.

“Oh.” Stiles looked at the car, too. “Some important things? More important than watching people get maimed in horrible ways while I pretend I’m not scared and try to see how much pressure is required to break your arm?”

Derek looked a little freaked out, not that Stiles could blame him. “I, uh, got to go.” He motioned toward the car, taking a step back.

“Right! Sorry, have fun doing whatever you have to do.” Stiles waved as Derek stepped off the porch.

Stiles shut the door and put the movies on the coffee table, then went to the kitchen to make sure Scott hadn’t eaten all of their provisions for the night.

“How many times have you teased about dating Derek?” Scott asked, skirting past him and flopping over the back of the couch, landing heavily on the cushions.

“Gentle with the furniture! That shit’s expensive!”

“You found it outside,” Scott said dryly.

“Well, it’ll be expensive to find more, then,” Stiles huffed. Then, “I don’t know,” he admitted, going to the stove to fidget with the burgers he’d been frying. “I tease everyone,” he claimed.

Scott rolled his eyes.

“I do! I tease everyone with it. He just happens to be present more often. And, I guess, I don’t know, it’s fun because it’s safe, you know?”

“How do you figure?” Scott asked slowly.

“He knows I’m joking, so I don’t have to worry about being rejected,” Stiles muttered.

Scott gave him a _look_. “One of these days he’s going to take you up on it.” He shoved a handful of popcorn into his mouth.

Stiles bit his lip, thinking about it. He laughed and shook his head. “He won’t. And he doesn’t think of me like that.”

“What if he does?” Scott asked, sitting up to watch Stiles. “What would you do if he does?”

Evasively, Stiles asked, “Does what?”

“What if he _does_ think of you like that, and _does_ take you up on it?” Scott pressed.

Stiles blew out a breath so hard his lips flapped attractively. “Before or after I’m released from the hospital for my heart attack?”

“Stiles,” Scott protested.

He waved his hands. “ _If_ he thought of me like that, if he said yes to a date, then…I’d probably feel like an ass for joking about it. And then I’d take him out on a date because, you know, he’s Derek.”

Scott nodded firmly, like all was good and right in the world now that Stiles had admitted his feelings. “Okay. Good. Now let’s watch some uninterrupted slaughter.”

 

 

**+1**

The barbeque began similarly to the pack dinner, except now everyone was gathered at a park and Stiles was fending off Malia, Isaac, and Erica with the spatula.

Scott had already managed to shove a still-scalding hotdog in his mouth and bolt out of reach, but Stiles had had his vengeance when Scott’s face had turned to pure panic as he tried to get the burning meat off his tongue.

His victory was fated for an early death, because werewolf healing gave Scott a reprieve.

“Back, you heathens!” Stiles swung the spatula in a wide circle, alternating between protecting the food on the grill and the things he’d set out on the picnic table. “We are going to act like a civilized family and we are _going_ to eat together, dammit!”

He knew any of them could dart in before he could stop them, snatching something and getting out of reach, just like Scott had done. He also knew that they wouldn’t do that—they were just teasing him, because the sight of him freaking out was high entertainment for werewolves.

“My threat still stands!” he declared, bringing the spatula down on Isaac’s hand with a crack.

Isaac danced backwards, laughing and clutching his hand.

“What threat?” Erica asked, eyeing the spatula.

“Date threat! Anyone with a SO will have me as a tagalong for every date. Any single person will have all this unmedicated delight for a date for the foreseeable future.” He turned his head toward Scott, raising his voice. “That means you, too! Better let Allison know to reserve three seats at the theater!”

Malia giggled, drawing Stiles’s attention back to the table in time to see a hand snake out and snatch a burger.

Stiles spun around, spatula raised. He froze.

Derek deliberately took a large bite of the burger. “This is good.”

Stiles sputtered indignantly.

“Peter’s running a few minutes late,” he went on conversationally.

“Did you not hear me? I _said_ anyone stealing food would be subjected to a date from hell.” Stiles put his hands on his hips, well aware that the other three vultures had flown the coop. Probably searching for safer ground.

“I heard you.” He lifted his brows when Stiles made a ‘well then?’ sort of gesture and took another bite of the burger.

Stiles opened and closed his mouth. “Well. Well, then, I. You’re. We,” he blustered. He looked around for help. “Well, fine,” he said, deciding to call Derek’s bluff. “Then I guess we’ll be going on a date. Friday.” And he nodded, having proved his point.

Derek took another bite and raised an eyebrow. “Where?” he asked calmly.

“Uh.” Stiles blinked, tried to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth. “The…the devil waiter diner,” he said slowly. “Nino’s.”

Derek nodded. “Okay then.”

“Are you serious?” Stiles blurted. “You want to go on a date. With me.”

Derek looked at the last bite of burger in his hand. “That was the deal, wasn’t it?” He grinned, suddenly predatory. “I eat this and you take me a on a date.”

Stiles looked around, because he clearly wasn’t understanding English anymore. “That…was. But I thought…that it was a sufficient threat to keep the heathens off the food.”

Derek finished off his burger and wiped his hands on his pants.

“Barbarian,” Stiles said automatically. “There’s napkins over there.”

“Are you saying it was an empty threat?” Derek challenged, ignoring the napkin suggestion.

“No,” he said and scowled. “Are you serious?” he repeated in a low voice, dropping his gaze.

Derek tipped his chin up gently. Lips pressed against his own in soft, chaste kiss. Stiles let out a little gasp and leaned into it, cupping Derek’s face and hesitantly touching his tongue to Derek’s lips, silently asking for more. Derek obliged, tilting his head slightly to allow better access. Stiles huffed when Derek stepped back.

Derek smirked at him. “Completely serious.”


End file.
